Surprising Bluebell Scent
To my surprise, the first thing that hit me was the wave of heady scent. I'd never noticed the smell of bluebells before. Admittedly it's one of the better crops I've seen here, but on another woodland walk a couple of days earlier I'd noticed the same thing, and all of this got me wondering. I'm fairly certain that I've not had an unexplained virus for the last twenty odd years, but suddenly it seems I can smell things I couldn't before. Is it because retirement gives you more time to tune into things you had to race through before, or are the bluebells mutating to produce a wonderful world of aroma-vision this year? I'm all in favour of it, especially during this spell of raging inflation where we're having to make some modest economies, which currently include showering every other day. Yesterday it wasn't my turn. Approach with care.
The second thing that hit me in the woodland where I love to come and wander around alone was the sign near the entrance. It seemed that if I followed the path I might stumble upon a photography workshop in the woods. Suddenly I was filled with visions of finding a photographer in every one of the corners I've discovered here; I'm not very good at sharing. A few days earlier Ali and I had watched what were evidently the members of a camera club at West Bay in Dorset (or Broadchurch if you like a detective drama series on the telly) as they photographed benches, beach huts and bikers, ticking off items on little sheets of paper while we sat eating our ice creams. One of them lay down in the middle of the road in the face of oncoming traffic. I hope the result was worth it. I'm sure they got some lovely images, and everything and everyone has a place, but mine isn't among a large group of people trying to take the same shot as myself. It's bad enough bumping into Lee's elbows half the time I'm out and about - I've taken to a suit of body armour when I'm out with him, and because of baggage allowances I'm going to have to wear it on the plane to Reykjavik later this year. At Broadchurch I'd deliberately left my camera in the van, which I concede was a mistake when I saw the famous honeycomb cliffs towering over the beach. Even under a plain blue sky there was a shot to be stolen from the scene.
So it was with some trepidation that I took those early steps through my favourite woodland yesterday afternoon. Where would I find this party of togs, clacking away at bluebells for all they were worth? A woman with a small child, a couple of dog walkers, one of whom told me she'd seen another photographer wandering around, and a pair of BMX riders went by. Usually I'm all in favour of BMX related activity, but here they've ruined my all time favourite composition in this handful of covered acres by putting a bike ramp on either side of the big boulder and made the shot impossible to recreate unless you're particularly talented at using the content aware fill tool. This one is on the living room wall in giant size - Grrrr!
www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/33910141398/in/album-...
And then I saw her, a young lady picking up another sign and placing it into her bag as she went past with a smile, making me feel like the uncharitable old misery that I clearly am in the process. It seemed the workshop had disbanded, leaving only one rogue photographer out there somewhere, no doubt a solitary woodland shadow just like myself who'd flinch at the sight of another human being when they'd come here seeking solace. I could live with that.
With the initial small glut of human traffic now departing for tea, I began to think about the task at hand, and having seen the images that many of you have shared recently, I knew I was lagging behind again. Ironically the holiday in a place where you might reasonably expect me to have found some late April carpets of blue, namely the New Forest hadn't produced a single specimen; not where we were staying anyway. I should probably have taken advantage of the opportunity to go to that famous Hampshire woodland where so many stunning bluebell shots are taken, but I was enjoying lounging around the campsite and walking onto the heath too much to move my sorry backside. Besides which, if you're in a van you have to put everything away carefully before you pull up the sticks and set off. On the return from the trip I was almost immediately engaged in a bank holiday weekend of (almost) non-photography adventures - more of that to follow. And then when Lee asked where I wanted to go in the middle of the week, he overruled my "bluebells" plea with a visit to one of my very least favourite locations where his current style of photography produces a veritable bonanza of results, while I just stand around looking confused and checking my watch for what time the Champions League semi final starts. Yesterday took a long time to arrive and by now I was wondering whether I'd missed the best of it.
For a while I roamed in circles, bewildered by the sensory overload, determined not to line up compositions I'd shot here before (although of course I did, even the one with the bike ramp in the foreground). I always love the way the fresh lime greens on the beech trees contrast with the purple floor, Mother Nature's habit of knowing her colour wheel combinations always so impressive. Eventually I began to settle and find shapes among the spiderweb like paths that criss-cross the woodland. Part of that sense of relaxation was that I hadn't missed the show after all, and knew that I'd be able to return to newly discovered patches before the party would be over. I've found a lovely sweeping glade filled with wild garlic - I just need to go back slightly earlier in the day for the light and my gardening gloves to remove a few belligerent brambles from the scene. There's still time before moving along the annual circuit to the sea thrift and then the poppies. Maybe this year I'll get a shot worth sharing from those outings too. Every year it's a case of "I almost like that one, but what if I'd moved to the left a bit," or "why did I include that in the composition?" I've never get perfection of course - we're never truly happy after all.
Just before I uploaded this, I almost went back into photoshop to clean the path and remove many of the fallen leaves. But I decided not to - after all, what forest floor doesn't have dead foliage all over it? Happy Sunday everyone.
Surprising Bluebell Scent
To my surprise, the first thing that hit me was the wave of heady scent. I'd never noticed the smell of bluebells before. Admittedly it's one of the better crops I've seen here, but on another woodland walk a couple of days earlier I'd noticed the same thing, and all of this got me wondering. I'm fairly certain that I've not had an unexplained virus for the last twenty odd years, but suddenly it seems I can smell things I couldn't before. Is it because retirement gives you more time to tune into things you had to race through before, or are the bluebells mutating to produce a wonderful world of aroma-vision this year? I'm all in favour of it, especially during this spell of raging inflation where we're having to make some modest economies, which currently include showering every other day. Yesterday it wasn't my turn. Approach with care.
The second thing that hit me in the woodland where I love to come and wander around alone was the sign near the entrance. It seemed that if I followed the path I might stumble upon a photography workshop in the woods. Suddenly I was filled with visions of finding a photographer in every one of the corners I've discovered here; I'm not very good at sharing. A few days earlier Ali and I had watched what were evidently the members of a camera club at West Bay in Dorset (or Broadchurch if you like a detective drama series on the telly) as they photographed benches, beach huts and bikers, ticking off items on little sheets of paper while we sat eating our ice creams. One of them lay down in the middle of the road in the face of oncoming traffic. I hope the result was worth it. I'm sure they got some lovely images, and everything and everyone has a place, but mine isn't among a large group of people trying to take the same shot as myself. It's bad enough bumping into Lee's elbows half the time I'm out and about - I've taken to a suit of body armour when I'm out with him, and because of baggage allowances I'm going to have to wear it on the plane to Reykjavik later this year. At Broadchurch I'd deliberately left my camera in the van, which I concede was a mistake when I saw the famous honeycomb cliffs towering over the beach. Even under a plain blue sky there was a shot to be stolen from the scene.
So it was with some trepidation that I took those early steps through my favourite woodland yesterday afternoon. Where would I find this party of togs, clacking away at bluebells for all they were worth? A woman with a small child, a couple of dog walkers, one of whom told me she'd seen another photographer wandering around, and a pair of BMX riders went by. Usually I'm all in favour of BMX related activity, but here they've ruined my all time favourite composition in this handful of covered acres by putting a bike ramp on either side of the big boulder and made the shot impossible to recreate unless you're particularly talented at using the content aware fill tool. This one is on the living room wall in giant size - Grrrr!
www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/33910141398/in/album-...
And then I saw her, a young lady picking up another sign and placing it into her bag as she went past with a smile, making me feel like the uncharitable old misery that I clearly am in the process. It seemed the workshop had disbanded, leaving only one rogue photographer out there somewhere, no doubt a solitary woodland shadow just like myself who'd flinch at the sight of another human being when they'd come here seeking solace. I could live with that.
With the initial small glut of human traffic now departing for tea, I began to think about the task at hand, and having seen the images that many of you have shared recently, I knew I was lagging behind again. Ironically the holiday in a place where you might reasonably expect me to have found some late April carpets of blue, namely the New Forest hadn't produced a single specimen; not where we were staying anyway. I should probably have taken advantage of the opportunity to go to that famous Hampshire woodland where so many stunning bluebell shots are taken, but I was enjoying lounging around the campsite and walking onto the heath too much to move my sorry backside. Besides which, if you're in a van you have to put everything away carefully before you pull up the sticks and set off. On the return from the trip I was almost immediately engaged in a bank holiday weekend of (almost) non-photography adventures - more of that to follow. And then when Lee asked where I wanted to go in the middle of the week, he overruled my "bluebells" plea with a visit to one of my very least favourite locations where his current style of photography produces a veritable bonanza of results, while I just stand around looking confused and checking my watch for what time the Champions League semi final starts. Yesterday took a long time to arrive and by now I was wondering whether I'd missed the best of it.
For a while I roamed in circles, bewildered by the sensory overload, determined not to line up compositions I'd shot here before (although of course I did, even the one with the bike ramp in the foreground). I always love the way the fresh lime greens on the beech trees contrast with the purple floor, Mother Nature's habit of knowing her colour wheel combinations always so impressive. Eventually I began to settle and find shapes among the spiderweb like paths that criss-cross the woodland. Part of that sense of relaxation was that I hadn't missed the show after all, and knew that I'd be able to return to newly discovered patches before the party would be over. I've found a lovely sweeping glade filled with wild garlic - I just need to go back slightly earlier in the day for the light and my gardening gloves to remove a few belligerent brambles from the scene. There's still time before moving along the annual circuit to the sea thrift and then the poppies. Maybe this year I'll get a shot worth sharing from those outings too. Every year it's a case of "I almost like that one, but what if I'd moved to the left a bit," or "why did I include that in the composition?" I've never get perfection of course - we're never truly happy after all.
Just before I uploaded this, I almost went back into photoshop to clean the path and remove many of the fallen leaves. But I decided not to - after all, what forest floor doesn't have dead foliage all over it? Happy Sunday everyone.